


Obsession by Madison

by sgamadison



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-20
Updated: 2010-09-20
Packaged: 2017-10-12 01:37:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sgamadison/pseuds/sgamadison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was just supposed to be a stupid joke.  He'd never meant for it to go this far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obsession by Madison

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2008 McFleece Challenge

  
It started out as just a damn joke. At least, he'd _meant_ for it to be just a joke. He had been pretty irritated with Rodney at the time. When the idea for a little stupid teasing had come to him, he'd rolled right with it.

It wasn't even a good idea. Just...amusing on some small level. Maybe because he liked to watch Rodney sputter and rant. Not that he had to do much more than simply wait around to get a little of _that_ action, but still. Being able to trigger a Rodney rant by making him (mildly) physically uncomfortable, knowing that it would only be for a finite period of time and especially in payback for being treated like Rodney's own personal errand boy...yeah, so how could he pass that up when the idea had struck him?

The planet that they'd gated to that day was damp and chilly. PK7-147 seldom got really cold, but it never got all that warm either. Their technology seemed to be stuck somewhere in the Middle Ages as far as heat and lighting were concerned but they had some interesting geological deposits that had been discovered by one of the survey teams the previous month. As part of the subsequent trade deal, Rodney and Radek had been spending some time with the planetary engineers, who were positively salivating at the idea of central heating on a wide scale. John thought it was pretty beneath Rodney's level of expertise to be working on something so basic—they had half a dozen engineers in Atlantis that could have easily done the job—but the prospect of using the unusual mineral in a new and challenging way was something that Rodney could not resist. His arguments for going himself had been somewhere along the lines of "having our people blow up the nice natives due to incompetence won't look good for trade meetings" and "why should I let the peons have all the fun?"

It hadn't stopped him from complaining about the weather every time they came through the gate, however. Each time they'd prepared to gate to PK7-147, Rodney had come up with some other means of trying to protect himself from the elements, which was usually a complete waste of time, because once they'd reached the power station and Rodney ploughed into his work, he began to shed clothes rapidly. Ronon had a theory that Rodney's brain produced heat as a by-product of normal functioning, which had led to a discussion of the laws of thermodynamics (and a Rodney rant when they didn't get the little details right). John had to admit to himself, if no one else, that he'd deliberately been suitably ignorant of those details just to get another rant. He thought it was funny when Rodney would launch into a tirade, blue eyes flashing with indignation, hands eloquently punctuating his every word.

John wasn't the only one who'd showed concern about the appropriate use of SGA-1's expertise on the project. Elizabeth had indicated that she thought perhaps babysitting Rodney was not the best use of the remainder of the team's time. John had pointed out mildly that SGA-1 didn't really have any major missions planned at the moment and besides, what could be more important than protecting their most valuable resource? He'd said it with just the right degree of sarcasm, so that Elizabeth had given him the fish eye, but had let it slide. Besides, she knew as well as he did that Teyla was smoothing the way for the expedition to gain mineral mining rights in the future, if indeed, said mineral turned out to be as useful as Rodney had predicted. Not as good as naquadah, but a decent energy source, just the same.

His biggest concern had been keeping Ronon occupied to the point that he didn't start picking fights with the locals. As for himself, hell, he _liked_ boring missions. Give him a nice, boring mission where nothing went wrong any day. Well, okay, maybe it got a little monotonous after a while, but after some of the missions that passed for normal in Pegasus, John had come to appreciate the sort of day where no one got their consciousness transferred into another body, cloned by mad scientists or eaten by space vampires. Especially the 'eaten by the Wraith' thing. If that wasn't bad enough, John still woke up in a cold sweat some nights ever since that day they'd been attacked by the killer zombie rats. Who the hell made zombies out of _rodents_ , for crying out loud?

When they'd been about to leave PK7-147 that day and head back to Atlantis, Rodney had turned to John suddenly and said, "Wait, wait, I need you to go back and grab my jacket."

John had been annoyed, to say the least. "Go get it yourself. And while you're at it, why don't you pin your mittens to your coat. And hey, you've got a Sharpie—better put your name inside the collar too."

Rodney had made a squirrelly sort of face and John knew with triumph that Rodney had indeed already labeled his clothing with his name. "Look, Sheppard, I've got to repack this equipment anyway." He had unloaded his pack off his shoulder and set down the case he was carrying as well. "The mineral is slightly radioactive and I want to place the samples in a better containment unit to take back with us. I can do _that_ in the two minutes it will take you to go back for the jacket. C'mon, you know you'll be faster than me anyway."

Which was true, but it hadn't made him any happier about going back down all those corridors to the lower levels where the power plant was located. Seeing as Teyla and Ronon had already headed back to the jumper with Radek and the others, he couldn't even have pulled rank and sent one of the Marines to fetch the jacket instead.

So he'd gone. Not without grumping about it a bit. He'd hustled a little going down the stairs but he'd had no intention of putting himself out so as to prevent Rodney from having to wait impatiently for his return. The image of Rodney standing in the chilly hallway, arms folded across his chest, fingers tapping one bicep in irritation had assailed him just as his hand closed on the bright orange fleece. The idea had come to him then.

Oh, yeah.

Swinging his own pack off his shoulder, he'd folded the orange fleece as tight as he could get it to go and stuffed it down into his pack, eyeing the arrangement critically when he was done. Nope, not too obvious. He'd headed back to Rodney, whistling a jaunty tune.

"What do you mean, it wasn't there?" Rodney had been incensed at the news, ready to throw down his gear and march off stomping down the hallway in search of the culprit.

John had realized belatedly that he could have inadvertently touched off a major diplomatic crisis so he intervened quickly. "I'm sure someone cleaning up just put it aside for safekeeping. I told someone to keep an eye out for it. Not that it would be hard to miss..."

"I _like_ that jacket," Rodney had sounded slightly wounded. "It's amazingly warm, especially if you wear it with the right layers and I've had it for years now. Besides, it looks good on me."

An image of Rodney as he'd first appeared in Antarctica flashed into John's mind: Rodney running into the room with the others, standing out from the crowd because of the orange fleece—the only bright spot in a room full of blues and greys. The color brought out the blue of his eyes and John could hear him saying with decisiveness, "Picture where you are in the universe". At the time, Rodney had been the only anchor in a world turned suddenly upside down. He was right; the jacket _did_ look good on him.

Rodney had made a face that would have been called a pout on anyone other than a forty-year-old man.

"I'm sure it will turn up," John had said, trying hard not to give himself away with laughter. He'd patted Rodney on the arm in sympathy.

"Damn it," Rodney had groused as they'd headed towards the main entrance of the building. "I'm going to have to walk all the way back to the jumper in the cold with no jacket. It will probably start raining too."

It hadn't—well, not really. The air had been pretty heavy with moisture though and Rodney had been suitably damp and irritated by the time they'd returned to jumper. Radek, recognizing the warning signs, had immediately retreated to the back jumper with the rest of the science team. Teyla had given John a funny look and had then broken open the emergency thermos of coffee that no one had even known existed. She'd poured out a cup for Rodney as he'd toweled off his head, complaining bitterly all the while, his diatribe only partly muffled by the towel over his face.

Ronon had shot John a particularly piercing look and then glanced significantly at John's slightly bulging pack where it sat next to the rest of the stored gear. His grin had been pure evil and John had hoped Ronon wouldn't give the game away. "Buckle up everyone, time to go home," John had said loudly, to be heard over Rodney's bitching, busying himself with the details of pre-flight.

He'd noticed that at least one Marine looked around in confusion for the seat restraints that weren't there. Hah. Newbie.

"Why don't the jumpers have seatbelts?" Ronon had asked innocently and then grinned at John when this triggered the expected outburst from Rodney on the stupidity of the Ancients and their obvious lack of anything resembling safety protocols.

"They didn't need them," John had countered, knowing that wasn't true. "They had inertial dampers."

"And there has never, ever in the history of recorded time been an equipment failure?" Rodney had been more acerbic than usual, which John attributed to his already-primed-to-rant state. "No one has ever crashed a jumper?"

He'd been in his usual place in the co-pilot's chair, his hair damp and sticking up in odd tufts, cradling the mug of coffee in his hands as he huddled into a spare parka, looking decidedly annoyed. John had thought maybe it was time to take pity on him.

"Well now, Rodney," he'd drawled, leaning back a little in his seat, "if the dampers fail, we won't have to worry about _seatbelts_."

"That's right," Rodney had said sourly, "because we'd all be..." He'd paused and John had chimed in with him to say in unison, " _rat jam_."

Rodney had shot him what John liked to think of as his evil elf look, his pointed chin tucked so that he looked up at John from under his eyebrows, crooked mouth turned up in a mischievous grin. It never failed to make John grin back in return.

"Of what are they speaking?" Radek's plaintive voice had been heard in the background.

"Bloody _Torchwood_ ," Teyla had said, sounding like a disgruntled Welshman and Rodney had given a hoot of laughter before the entire team broke down in mild hysterics. One of the Marines had taken it upon himself to fill in the blanks for Radek and John had felt all was right with his world as he'd piloted the jumper home for the day.

The next morning during their run however, Ronon had called him on it. "What were you thinking?" he'd chided with a smirk, picking up the pace so that John had to puff a little to answer. _Bastard_. John suspected Ronon liked making him feel old.

"It was just a joke," John had said crossly, not wishing to spare the wind for further explanation. Sweat had been starting to form around his collar and the small of his back and he'd wondered how he could do this _every damn day_ with Ronon and still feel like he was out of shape. He'd recalled sharply how someone had left a copy of one of the James Herriot books in his office once, bookmarked to the story about the old border collie and the young puppy who could outrun him. Every place where the name of the dog, Jock, appeared, the print had been altered to read 'John'. The gesture had all the earmarks of a McKay slam, even if James Herriot wasn't exactly his style.

John had retaliated by publicly reading the book. He'd carried it with him to briefings, propped it up in front of him in the mess hall, held discussions with Herriot fans who'd latched on to him the second they'd seen the book in his hands. He'd even developed an appreciation for Jock, who rather than be defeated by the pup, learned to take a shortcut and beat the other dog to the final goal. Of course it hadn't hurt when he'd actually become involved in the novel itself—it was sure a lot more readable than _War and Peace_. Ronon had surprisingly borrowed it when John was through and now, regrettably, _All Creatures Great and Small_ had been added to the team movie night DVD list. John had tried to tell Ronon it wasn't available but Ronon had figured out how to use Amazon.com, so he wasn't buying John's story. That Rodney had looked suitably appalled could have been attributed to the subject matter now firmly rooted on the viewing list, but John was 95% sure Rodney had been responsible for the book in the first place.

Ronon hadn't been finished with John that morning, however. "He thinks you have it, you know."

"He'd be right," John had puffed, pushing himself a little harder.

"Yeah, but do you _want_ him thinking that you have it?"

Ronon had a point. A good one. John had a sudden vision of himself in the shower as the water began to run cold and he gave a little mental shudder. Hot water was to John as coffee was to Rodney and Rodney could be a vindictive bastard at times. He'd stumbled to a halt at Ronon's words, Ronon stopping as well a few strides later and coming back to join him with a sigh. He'd rested for a moment, hands on knees, before straightening and pretending that the importance of the conversation warranted the need to stop running momentarily.

"What do you suggest?" John had said warily, as a mischievous smile crept over Ronon's face.

"More things need to disappear." Ronon had grinned and John thought he looked even scarier than usual. "At times when you could not have possibly taken them."

John had thought about it for a moment and then decided as annoy-McKay plans went, it had some merit. "Okay," he'd conceded at last, "but let's stick to items of clothing—nothing really valuable, or important." The purpose was to annoy Rodney, not cause him to plant tracking devices on personal items or worse, rig a lethal security system for his quarters.

"It's gonna drive McKay _nuts_ ," Ronon had said with glee.

John had made himself ignore the little voice in his head that suggested that this game he was playing with Rodney was a little weird.

The next item of Rodney's to 'disappear' was a pair of leather, fleece-lined gloves. They had been just about to return to Atlantis when Rodney had noticed they were gone. Everyone had been subjected to five minutes of Rodney-confusion while he'd searched for them and then twenty minutes of bitching about how they were the nicest gloves he'd ever owned and that they were a Christmas gift from Jeannie and how was he supposed to go back to Earth without them and explain that he'd lost them? He'd given John a narrow-eyed glance, as though John had the gloves secreted on his body somewhere, but until Rodney had started complaining, John hadn't even known they were missing.

"Tell her a whale ate them," John had suggested heartlessly and Ronon had snickered from behind. Rodney's dread of whales was pretty well-known by this time, though no one knew exactly why. No one was dumb enough to ask. John was willing to bet it was some childhood trauma that was more in Rodney's mind than an actual threat of whale-attack. Because, yeah, _Canadian_.

He'd started to feel a little bad however, when Rodney's hands had appeared red and raw with the cold. Rodney had blown on them frequently and stuffed them into his armpits while walking in an effort to keep them warm during the mission and John had caved and offered his own gloves, only to have Rodney turn them down. "I can't wear them anyway while I'm working and besides, it's more important that you be able to shoot things, namely things out to kill me, than it is for me to suffer a little frostbite." Rodney had managed to sound insufferably noble and little-boy miserable at the same time.

"It's nowhere near freezing, McKay." John's guilty conscious might have made him sound a little more testy than usual.

"Maybe you need fingerless gloves," Teyla had suggested, and Rodney was happily diverted onto the merits of such gloves verses having to pull off a pair with his teeth in the middle of some delicate repair in a cold environment.

When Rodney had placed his fingers in his mouth and started sucking on them, something in John had snapped. "Take the goddamned gloves, McKay." He'd slapped his pair of gloves up against Rodney's chest with a loud ' _thwap_ ' of sound and Rodney had looked startled.

Teyla's assessing stare had left him feeling a little unsettled and he'd ignored Ronon altogether. When he'd gotten back to the base and began putting his gear away, he'd found Rodney's gloves in his pack. The leather was butter-smooth to the touch, creamy and soft and the fleece within just enough to keep the hands warm without loss of dexterity. He could see why Rodney liked them. He'd reluctantly stored them in his locker with the orange jacket, thinking vaguely that he should find a better hiding place.

After that, it was Rodney's blue fleece hat. Okay, seriously, Rodney should have been glad someone stole his hat, because it was the ugliest hat in the galaxy and that was saying something. After all, Pegasus laid claim to the people who wore the skulls and skins of what appeared to be weasels on their heads, judging from the beady little eye sockets and the strong odor of...well, _weasel_.

And the hat was ugly. And it looked silly on him. The first time Rodney had shown up with it on a mission, John had started calling it the Blue Souffle and the name had stuck. Now even Rodney referred to it as such. It had ear flaps that came down on the sides and tied under the chin, but the bulk of the hat sat up in a pouf like a pastry chef's hat. Rodney didn't care. It was warm, he'd argued, and then had given statistics on how much heat a person lost through their head. John had looked pointedly at the rest of the team, bareheaded and apparently comfortable.

"Teyla has a hood on that fur-parka of hers. Ronon's dreds _are_ a hat and your hair is a life form all to itself. You guys don't _need_ hats." Rodney's response had been suitably sarcastic.

"Maybe if you had a little more hair of your own..." Ronon had patted Rodney on the top of his hat until the Souffle fell, while Rodney had scowled and smacked his arm away.

So when the Blue Souffle went missing, Rodney had blown a gasket. He'd wanted to take the village apart. They'd been sitting in a tavern getting a little respite from the cold before walking back to the jumper when Rodney had realized the hat was gone and he'd begun pulling tables aside, looking under benches and generally suggesting that someone _in this very room_ must have taken his hat. The natives looked a tad irritated about Rodney's imminent explosion and John had hastily suggested a return to the jumper right away.

It had been hard to pull Rodney away from the tavern. "I've had that hat twenty years," Rodney had complained as John had dragged him away by one arm in the direction of the jumper. "That's longer than I've known most _people_."

John had glanced at him sharply then, pausing for just a second as he heard a note of loneliness in Rodney's voice. Overhead, soft, fat flakes of snow had started to fall in a lazy, tumbling pattern. Their eyes had locked for a moment, and then Rodney had turned away. "Never mind," he'd said, pulling his arm loose and hunching his shoulders.

On the jumper, Rodney had pulled through his entire pack, muttering disagreeably and looking as though he might challenge John to a strip search. John had found that thought a little too...something...and decided instead it was about time he called Ronon off. A joke was one thing, but they couldn't jeopardize the basic mission like that.

Ronon had apparently thought the same thing, because when he'd delivered the Souffle to John, he'd handed over a folded up pile of black fleece as well.

"What's this?" John had asked, puzzled, even as his fingers closed over the soft fleece.

"Pants," Ronon had grinned wolfishly.

"Nuh-uh," John had said inelegantly, allowing the clothing to unfold. Sure enough, the black fleece had unrolled out of his hand to reveal what appeared to be...tights. John had been reasonably sure they were some sort of winter sportswear, probably again purchased by Jeannie, but he could not imagine anything more inappropriate for Rodney to wear.

"Where did you get these?" The snicker had started to build in his voice as he asked.

"He was getting suspicious about all the off-world disappearances so I snagged these out of his gear bag when we got back. It'll be a while before he misses them, and the beauty of it is he won't know when he lost them." Ronon's grin had been contagious and before he knew it, John had tucked the fleece pants in his locker with the other items.

Fleece tights. The idea had amused him as he walked back to his quarters. Rodney. In tights. Outlining every curve of his generous body. Especially that ass. Because really, Rodney's ass was hard to miss. Pretty much everyone in Atlantis had made some sort of comment about Rodney's Magnificent Ass at some point or another. John had found himself dwelling on what Rodney might have looked like wearing that fleece on a mission and could see him up underneath some console, his black, fuzzy bottom cocked up in the air, just begging for someone to come over and touch it...

John had shaken off the image, uncomfortably aware of a slow, thrumming arousal and wasn't _that_ just peachy? Obviously, he needed to get laid. Granted, it had been a while. It wasn't like he hadn't had offers; he felt like he spent a fair amount of time dodging offers. It had always seemed like the ones he'd received off-world were somehow inappropriate for his position as team leader and negotiator and the ones in the city were fraught with the potential to get...messy. He kept meaning to talk to Ronon about it and find out what he was doing along those lines, but somehow the timing never seemed right to bring it up in conversation. Maybe the answer was to screw everyone, he'd thought cheerfully, so that no one thought they were special.

****

He'd thought they'd get a few days of quiet but Rodney had stomped over to their usual table during breakfast the next morning and set down his tray with a clatter, causing his scrambled eggs to jump a little off his plate. "I wish to make a formal complaint, Colonel," he'd begun.

  
 _Uh-oh_.

John had instead played cool. "What's up, Rodney?" He'd continued to eat his breakfast, glancing up at Rodney through his hair, giving him what he'd hoped was an encouraging look.

"My stuff keeps going missing. I want it to stop. I can't prove you had anything to do with it, but I'd bet my life you know everything about it." Rodney had pulled out his chair and sat down, tucking a napkin under his chin, preparing to eat. He did not look at John, which John had taken to be a bad sign.

"What's missing now?" John had drawled, while at the same time feeling a little nervous. The joke really _had_ gone on long enough.

"A pair of polar-tech pants. They were expensive and useful and _warm_ , and I don't know why there is a conspiracy afoot to keep me cold and uncomfortable, but there is and it needs to _stop_." Rodney had looked up then with a patently unfriendly look and John had felt bad, really bad. _Shit_. He'd been a bit of a jerk and he suddenly realized that this was no different from high school and the jocks picking on the geeks and that had never been him before. So why the hell was he doing it now?

He'd leaned back in his chair and took a healthy swig from his bottled water. "Okay. You're right. This is someone's bad idea of a joke and I'll see that it stops. I promise." He'd injected as much sincerity into his voice as he could, watching Rodney's expression while at the same time toying with the cap to his bottle.

Rodney had paused midway to raising a forkful of eggs to his mouth. "You will?" He'd sounded disbelieving and hopeful at the same time and John had mentally kicked himself again for choosing to tease Rodney in this fashion.

"Yes," he'd said decisively, feeling himself grin a little at Rodney's sudden smile. He'd set the water down on the table and leaned in across it towards Rodney, clasping his hands in front of him. "So, what exactly did these pants look like?"

Rodney had made a face, lightening fast and probably completely unconsciously. "Um, black. Fleece. You know, winter outdoor gear." He had looked squirrelly again and John had been unable to resist.

"Black fleece? These wouldn't have by any chance been _tights_ , now would they, McKay?" Well, he'd had to say something or otherwise Rodney would have been suspicious, right?

Rodney had made the face he often made when about to defend some ridiculous Canadian thing. "Not _tights_ , Colonel. Pants. Polartech."

"Tights," John had said succinctly. "Like something Jane Fonda would wear."

"Jane Fonda has not been an aerobics queen since eighties," Rodney had smirked. "You're dating yourself, Sheppard."

"Well, that'd be about right," John had muttered only to have Rodney stare bug-eyed at him. _Ooops. Said that a little too loudly_. He'd felt the tips of his ears start to heat up and he'd coughed and made his excuses to leave the table.

But that was all over now. He was done with the teasing and the stealing and the... whatever it was that he seemed to be getting out of the whole thing in the first place. He'd told Ronon that morning that he was done and there'd be no more pilfering of Rodney's belongings. He'd wait a few days and then figure out how he'd get Rodney's stuff back to him. In the meantime, he'd stop thinking about how good Rodney had looked in his orange pullover and about Rodney sucking on his fingers in the cold and how Rodney's ass would look in tight, black fabric. Because these thoughts were so inappropriate on so many levels that John would have liked to have thrown the book at himself, only he was sorta one of the bosses.

He was congratulating himself on putting this whole thing behind him when the door to his quarters chimed. He glanced at his watch—he wasn't often here at this time of day, he'd just stopped by to pick up the copy of _All Things Bright and Beautiful_ to loan to Lorne (who _said_ he was picking it up for Parrish but John wasn't sure about that. Sometimes he wondered about the two of them, and then cut those thoughts off abruptly).

When John opened the door, Teyla was standing there with a disapproving look on her face and a bundle of bright, royal blue cloth, bunched up in her hands.

"What's this?" John asked, when she thrust the bundle into his chest, forcing him to take hold of it.

"Rodney's bathrobe," she said in a tone that implied ' _isn't that evident_?' and John recognized as being one of general pissedness.

  
 _Uh-oh_.

"Um, Teyla, I didn't ask for this," he held the robe out at arms length, but Teyla backed away and held up her hands.

"Oh, no you don't," she warned. "I think this foolishness that you and Ronon have started is not very nice, but Ronon insisted that I take this from Rodney's quarters and bring it to you. If you don't want it now, you will have to take it back yourself. Really, John, what were you thinking?"

"It was just supposed to be a joke," John said, and the words sounded lame even to him. When it became obvious Teyla wasn't backing down, he pulled the robe back, fingering the soft, plush material as he did so. His brain registered that Rodney seemed to have a lot of fleece before he refocused back on Teyla.

Teyla folded her arms across her chest. "If you were both twelve, and Rodney was a girl, you would have pulled his pigtails too, I bet."

" _Teyla_ ," John protested before he realized he should have just laughed it off instead.

Teyla just shook her head, a small smile stealing over her lovely features, the rich tones of her coppery brown hair catching the light as it brushed her shoulders. "If you are not teasing him to be mean, then you are teasing him because you like him. Which is it, John?"

"You left out because it's fun to do," John said pointedly, leaning in the doorway and folding his own arms, the robe spilling down over his hand in a silky pool of bright blue fabric.

"Fun because it is mean or fun because you like him?" Teyla stated baldly, raising an eyebrow. And then she seemed to read something on his face, something that he had no idea that he was revealing, because she suddenly reached out and gently closed her strong yet beautiful hand over his arm. "It is okay to like him, you know."

He flashed his standard half-smile. "Up to a point," he said tightly. He uncoiled himself from the door and out of her reach. "Don't worry, I've already told Ronon to knock it off. There will be no more stealing of Rodney's fuzzy things and I'll see that everything gets returned."

"John," Teyla said softly, a tiny frown forming between her eyes.

"It's all good, Teyla," John said, backing into his quarters and reaching for the door controls. "See you later?"

He shut the door with a sense of relief to have closed it on Teyla's uncomfortable observations. Really, she was way off base this time. Oh sure, they all had a tendency to treat Teyla as though she were this all-knowing, incredibly wise, mother-goddess figure, but that didn't mean she couldn't be _wrong_. And she was this time, wrong, wrong, wrong. Pull Rodney's pigtails indeed.

John balled up to robe with the intent of tossing it over on his bed, but the material refused to cooperate, and he found himself shaking it out to try again. The plush fleece was warm to the touch and sensual under his fingers and he couldn't help stroking it momentarily as though it were a cat. He wondered what it would feel like against the skin. He'd never been much for robes himself; time was usually of the essence for him post shower and putting on a robe was a luxury he could seldom afford. But the material felt so nice in his hands, he lifted it up to his face to see how it would feel against his cheek and found himself smelling the folds as he did so. He was startled when he recognized Rodney's scent. That shouldn't be something he _recognized_ , for pity's sake.

He changed his mind about tossing the robe on the bed and hung it up instead in the bathroom on the small hook that seemed to be provided for such a thing. He'd have to get the robe back ASAP, or confess all to Rodney. The thought gave him a little shiver. _That_ was a conversation he didn't want to have.

****

Events the next day put the thought of Rodney's fuzzy fleeces completely out of John's mind.

"What's the situation?" he snapped into his radio headset as he sprinted down the city's curving corridors. He'd been in the control room when the alarms had begun to sound; a panicked scientist had informed him that one of the lower decks was flooding and that Rodney had a team down in that area doing repairs. Within seconds of detaching a rescue teams and a squad of Marines, he was on his way down to the area in question as fast as he could go. Suddenly all that time running with Ronon seemed worth it.

"We got all the scientists to safety except for Drs. McKay and Zelenka," Sgt Deveraux spoke in his ear. "They are still in the flooded section. Water's still coming in as near as we can tell."

"And why haven't Drs. McKay and Zelenka been recovered?" John tried not to snarl, jumping the last four steps in the staircase and hitting the ground running.

"Oh wait, we're pulling up Dr. Z now. I'll get more information from him and report to you, sir."

"You do that," John wanted to yell but knew he couldn't waste the breath. He sprinted down the final turn into the area in question, slowing only as he ran into a bedraggled group of people. Most were slightly damp scientists that he recognized from Rodney's lab. Deveraux (who always reminded John slightly of Ford) was speaking earnestly with a sopping wet and shivering Radek. John by-passed the scientists and headed straight for Radek, reaching his side just as a med-tech was placing a blanket around his shoulders.

"What happened, Radek?"

Radek turned to squint at John through water streaked glasses. "We were one level down, doing an assessment for structural damage and replacing some damaged crystals in the desalination system when Dr. Constanza," and here Radek paused, pushed his glasses farther up his nose and glared in the direction of the scientist in question, " accidentally opened one of the holding tanks that was still open to the sea. Water came in at a great rate. We sent the rest of the survey team out; Rodney and I attempted to shut the system down before the whole level was flooded."

"Where _is_ Rodney?" John snapped.

Radek looked very unhappy. "He said he was coming. I thought he was right behind me. It is very disorienting down there. The water was coming in so fast. I...Colonel." Radek's face crumpled up. "It has been too long. He has been too long down there." John glanced at the access ladder in the floor, where water was steady rising up each rung to their level.

"Everyone fall back to higher ground," John ordered. "I'm going after McKay."

The rest of the Marines and rescue personnel began ushering the repair party back towards the stairwell. Except for Deveraux, who began to strip off his gear. John reached out and touched a wall panel, bringing up a schematic for the lower level. "Show me where you were working," he demanded of Radek.

Radek indicated the console where he'd last seen Rodney and then John turned to Deveraux, who appeared to be planning to go in the water with him. "Get me a life signs detector and a flashlight. Let's find out if they work under water." The Marine was slapping an LSD in his hand before he'd even kicked off his boots and he recognized the look of worry on the young man's face. Great. A marine with a crush on Rodney. He shook the thought off even as he ordered the reluctant Deveraux to get Radek to the infirmary.

He swung out over the access ladder and began the descent into the dark water. Jesus, but it was cold. Worse than cold, the water felt like it was near freezing and if Rodney hadn't already drowned than he was likely dead from hypothermia. An errant thought popped into his head as he continued down the ladder: freezing temps could slow the metabolic rate and allow someone who had drowned to survive without oxygen for longer than normal. John realized he was trying to rationalize the possibility that Rodney was still alive and took a deep breath before plunging into the cold water. Following the schematic etched in his mind, he headed in the general direction of the desalination consoles, using the flashlight to find the door into that area. He swam strongly, aware he had little time before his own oxygen ran out, and he used the light to sweep the area in front of him, looking for some sign of Rodney. He paused long enough to try and position the LSD; a touch on his arm almost made him expel his breath.

It was Rodney. Wearing some sort of improbable glass globe over his head, his chin lifted up to stay above an ever increasing water level within, his eyes dilated in a state of panic. John could see his lips moving, but of course, could hear nothing. John indicated the door with a violent jerk over his shoulder and Rodney nodded, taking a deep breath and pulling the globe off over his head. His fingers dug into John's arm like it was some sort of lifeline as they swam together for the door, and John supposed in a way, it was.

John's lungs were burning by the time they reached the ladder and his limbs felt leaden and stiff. He pushed Rodney up the ladder in front of him, thumping him on the ass repeatedly to make him go faster. When John's head broke the surface of the water, he took in a whooping breath, coughing with the exertion. He felt a hand grasp his arm and haul him up out of the water; he rolled over on his back and coughed some more, even as he heard Deveraux ordering stretchers and heated blankets. He rolled his head and saw Rodney curled up on the floor beside him, lips blue with cold as he shivered uncontrollably.

"You okay?" John wheezed.

Rodney scrunched his face up. "No. I'm cold, wet and miserable. I was nearly killed by the incompetence of my own team. You?" He stuttered getting the words out and the rant was short by Rodney standards, but to John the words were pure gold. Rodney was going to be just fine.

"Your fault," John said succinctly. "You could have left with everyone else. You _should_ have left with everyone else."

Rodney rolled over so he could face John, even as techs moved in and began wrapping him in a heated blanket. "I had to stop the ingress of water through the desalination tank; otherwise, more than just that level would have flooded. The damage was inc-c-alculable. My repair teams would have been swamped for weeks, if indeed we could have repaired all the damage. We don't have an unlimited supply of Ancient crystals, you know." He flapped the tips of his fingers weakly in John's direction from where they peeked out from under the blanket.

Rodney struggled to get his words out like he was pushing them through a strainer with his tongue, but he managed just the same. You had to admire a guy who could use five syllable words when in a state of hypothermia.

"We don't have an unlimited supply of McKays either," John tried his best to look pointedly in Rodney's direction but then it was his turn to get enveloped in a heated blanket and suddenly closing his eyes for a little rest between arguments seemed like a good idea.

****

He couldn't get warm. He had been examined, treated and duly released from the infirmary and still he could not get warm. He'd gone back to his room for a change of clothes. He'd been down to the desalination area to make sure that repairs there were underway and going as scheduled with no more flooding issues. He'd gone by the mess and snagged a cup of coffee that Carson probably wouldn't let Rodney have anyway and had gone back to the infirmary to check up on him.

Rodney had looked much better. He was sitting up in bed, wearing the red scrubs and had looked around surreptitiously before making the grabby hands and taking the coffee from John. He'd cradled the mug in his hands, inhaling deeply before taking a sip. "I don't think you should play with that," he'd cautioned John, who'd been examining the IV set up. It had been connected to a warming unit; the line had swung with the movement of Rodney's hands.

"When they gonna let you out?" John had asked instead.

"They keep saying soon," Rodney had groused a little. "Now that I have some coffee though, the wait is bearable." He smiled his thanks over the top of the cup as he took another sip and something weird zinged through John at the sight.

He'd been tempted to make his excuses and bolt, but he'd settled one hip on the end of Rodney's bed instead, so that he was half on, half off, one foot still on the floor. "So what happened?"

Rodney's expressive eyes had rolled typically, a flash of exasperated blue. "That idiot Constanza, whose suitable punishment I have as yet to creatively devise, opened one of the main tanks before making sure it was closed off to the sea. The water came in so fast..." Rodney's face had altered as he'd remembered the events and John had seen them unfold in Rodney's eyes. "People got knocked right off their feet and ohmygod, the water was so _cold_ , it simply took your breath away."

"Then what?" John had prompted, when Rodney appeared to have been lost in the memory.

"What? Oh. Right. Well, ever since the first year here, I've assigned people to work in pairs, so I told everyone to grab their partner and make for the ladder. I stayed behind to try and shut the sluices, but the mechanism was corroded from the salt and it wouldn't turn right away." He'd fixed a frowning look on John. "Radek wouldn't leave. I got the valve open with his help but I still needed to shut off the access to some of the more sensitive areas of the desalination unit. I had to yell at him. In fact, I think I fired him."

John had snorted appropriately. "So why didn't you get out in time? And what was with the fish bowl?"

The elf grin had made a brief appearance as Rodney finished his explanation. "Oh well, the water was filling the room so fast, so I pulled one of the light fixtures off the wall and trapped an air pocket inside so that I could have enough air to make it back to the ladder. And it was working too, only I got turned around in the dark and didn't know which way was out and I was starting to get stupid with the cold. I was never so glad as to see your flashlight." He'd grinned this time in genuine happiness. He'd leaned forward and placed a hand on John's ankle, giving it a little squeeze. "I owe you one."

"Just one?" John had drawled, going very still at Rodney's touch.

Rodney had sighed and leaned back again. "Don't tell me we're back to keeping count again. Or maybe we should just take turns?"

"I'm still ahead by three," John had eased himself off the bed to stand beside it as he got ready to leave.

"Oh wait, are we counting _personal_ lifesaving acts only here? You're just totally discounting the fact that I save the lives of nearly everyone here on, oh, I don't know, practically a weekly basis?"

"If we start counting city-wide saves too, then I'm ahead by four," John had smirked.

"Oh you are so not," Rodney had looked thunderous, like he might jump out of bed and come after John at any minute. "You don't get extra points for being heroically self-sacrificing."

"Yes you do," John had said, sliding out of pillow-tossing reach and heading deliberately for the door. "It says so in the flyboy manual."

"Hey!"

John had paused at Rodney's call, looking over one shoulder with an eyebrow raised. Rodney had been staring at him with an odd expression on his face—two parts embarrassment and one part something that struck John as confessional. "Yeah?" he'd prompted when Rodney said nothing further.

"Oh, um, right. Well, nothing, never mind, that is...tell Radek he's not fired, okay?"

John had given a little laugh and left the room, certain that wasn't what Rodney had intended to say.

Being cold usually made him hungry, so he'd headed down to the mess hall to see what was still available so late in the afternoon and found pickings to be pretty slim. He'd selected a chicken salad sandwich and an apple, wishing for something a little hot and filling, like maybe some soup instead. He'd spied Ronon alone at a table and had joined him.

Ronon was finishing off a huge plate of fried tormack tots, drowned in ketchup. The crispy, fried potato-y smell of the purple tubers had made John's mouth water. "How do you do that?" he'd indicated the plate as he sat down and then looked pointedly down at his own offerings. "There weren't any of those when I went through the line just a second ago."

"The ladies like me," Ronon had smirked back at him, deliberately popping a tormack tot in his mouth and making noises of appreciation.

"More like they're afraid of you," John had snorted. "They know what you're like when you're hungry, which is all the time."

Ronon had given him a toothy grin but had pushed the plate of tots closer towards him. "Heard you got wet today."

John had gratefully accepted a tot, savoring the crunchy edges and the chewy center as he swallowed. He'd licked the ketchup off his fingers before speaking. "Yup. Had a little excitement down by the desalination units. Everyone's fine though."

Ronon had just nodded. They shared the tots in silence until John had remembered the little scene with Teyla earlier. "Hey, speaking of women who are not afraid of you, what possessed you to enlist Teyla in our 'steal-Rodney's-fleece' game? And what did you say to convince her to take his bathrobe?"

Ronon had leaned back in his chair, frowning a little. "I never asked Teyla to take anything of Rodney's."

And so now here he was, prowling around his quarters, unable to get warm. Feeling restless and edgy, like he'd forgotten to do something important. His brain was quantum leaping from one subject to another and he couldn't settle down. He wondered what Teyla had been up to with the theft of Rodney's robe, which led him immediately to recall the image of Rodney lying on the metal decking beside him, his thin lips lavender with the cold, his eyes startlingly blue in the pallor of his face, his water-slicked hair making him look surprisingly vulnerable. Rodney pink-cheeked and sucking on his fingers as their booted feet crunched along the frost-laden path to the gate. Rodney in the Blue Souffle talking so rapidly that a cloud of vapor seemed to follow him, his gloveless hands waving expressively as he spoke. Rodney in his orange fleece, being both scientific and sardonic, a combination that John had found hard to resist.

John sat on the edge of his bed and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, supporting his head briefly. What the hell was wrong with him? Here he was, a grown man in his forties, a Lt. Colonel in the Air Force, military commander of a flying city in another _galaxy_ , for crying out loud. Playing stupid pranks on a team member and friend, obsessing about the guy and his clothes.

  
 _What you need is a girlfriend_. The thought startled him and he lifted his head, letting his hands dangle between his knees as he contemplated the thought. Ever since he'd taken command here in Atlantis, he'd felt that the complications fraught with having any sort of personal relationship outweighed the advantages. But the more he thought about it, the more appeal the idea had. Sure, he didn't have a great track record as far as relationships went, but that was pre-Pegasus. Life in this galaxy had taught him an awful lot on a steep learning curve and one of those things was that family didn't necessarily mean the people you were related to, but the people you chose. And it really wasn't reasonable to expect to spend the rest of his life celibate or in a series of what would be essentially one night stands.

The only problem, he frowned, was that he couldn't just decide he needed a girlfriend and go out and select one. Hell, it had to be someone he was compatible with, who understood what is was he went through on a daily basis, who really got what it was like to have the responsibility for the whole city resting squarely on his shoulders. Who shared his taste in movies and entertainment, someone who wouldn't mind just hanging out with him, playing games or just sharing a beer at sunset on the pier.

Oh god. Rodney was his _girlfriend_.

He jumped up at the realization, spun a circle in the small space of his quarters and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Rodney was his girlfriend. _Would you stop saying that_ , his mind hissed and he paced around the room some more. That was what Teyla was trying to tell him, he realized, and the thought made him groan out loud.

He forced himself to stop pacing and look at the problem rationally. He came to rest by one of the tall windows, closed now against the cold rain outside, the outside world gray and stormy as viewed through the water-streaked glass. He leaned his shoulder against the window pane and morosely contemplated the white-capped sea. Okay. Just because he'd been subconsciously letting Rodney fill the role of a girlfriend in his life didn't mean there was anything more to the relationship than that. In fact, it made a lot of sense when you thought about it—he'd been trying to avoid a messy relationship within the city because of the size of the expedition. With Rodney fulfilling that role, he had someone to bitch with, to listen to his problems and kick back and relax with as well who was completely safe. No messy entanglements. Each of them free to have normal relationships with women as the desire struck them. He had the emotional support he needed in the limited form he needed it in—no hearts and flowers, no clinging, no undying declarations of love. It was perfect.

  
 _No sex_ , his brain supplied helpfully.

It wasn't about sex, he insisted to himself. Sex he could get with anyone.

Except Rodney.

His proximity to the cold glass made him shiver and straighten his stance. This was a pointless train of thought and he decided to go take a hot shower, to really get warm, to wash all this crap out of his head. His skin felt itchy from the salt water dunking he'd taken earlier, he should have showered right away, but he'd been dry by the time he'd left the infirmary and he'd hated the thought of getting wet again so soon. Now he could barely stand himself and he stripped efficiently, setting the water temperature for near-scalding and the shower head adjustment for sand-blasting.

The needle sharp, hot spray felt almost painful at first, the shock of it against his skin making him jump a little as he stepped into the stall. He backed into it, feeling the stinging across his shoulders and deciding to change the spray to the pulse mode. With a sigh, he let the water pound over his neck and shoulders, rolling his head into it briefly and then letting it hang as the water worked the stiffness out of his back. He didn't know how long he'd stood like that before he began to move again. He poured out some shampoo and washed the salt out of his hair, noting with a little dismay the quantity of hair clinging to his fingers as he did so. He watched as the shampoo rinsed away in a soapy trail down his abdomen, over the slight softness there. If he didn't keep running with Ronon every day, he knew that could get away from him. He was past the age where he could eat anything he wanted and burn it off by simply breathing.

He knew he was a good-looking guy; it had been a part of his life as long as he could remember, like being good at math or having hazel eyes. He also knew what he'd look like when he was old; he remembered vividly how it felt to be in his Wraith-aged body and he thought it likely that he _would_ be one of those spry old men, all tissue paper and sinew, still with a shock of thick, silver hair. Like the pictures he remembered of his mother's father. But that was only one possibility, he knew. He wondered if people would still find him so attractive if he lost all his hair or gained 30 pounds. Would anyone still love him when he was sixty-four?

Rodney would. He knew with a dead certainty that Rodney wouldn't even notice those things. Rodney would berate his taste in movies and take glee in kicking his ass in whatever game they happened to be playing and call him an idiot and still grab him by the arm and drag him off to show him the latest cool thing.

He wasn't thinking about Rodney right now.

His cock, which had taken a sleepy, speculative interest in his thought processes earlier, now began to sit up and take notice of its surroundings. _Hey_ , it seemed to say, _we're in the shower! How about a little action here_?

John soaped himself slowly, thinking that he'd perhaps spent a little too much time seeking satisfaction this way, his cock's response to warm water was practically Pavlovian. What he needed was the slide of his cock into a woman's body, the head just nudging at her entrance, sinking deep into her slick warmth. He stepped forward out of the water, bracing his feet just a little as he went with his fantasy, watching his hand slide up and down his shaft, the head of his cock peeking through his grip with each movement. He tried to picture someone, even as his hips got into the action, slowly pumping to the rhythm of his hand. Someone not on base; he automatically insisted. A mental image of Carter appeared suddenly and though he could see what Rodney found attractive about her, he had a hard time fantasizing about a woman he thought of as 'Carter'.

Fictional was better, he decided, closing his eyes and losing himself to the feeling of his hand on his skin. Someone like... Zoe from Firefly. Yeah. She had the whole tough warrior thing going on and that tight, leather vest and those legs that went on for miles...John tried picturing those legs spread for him, ankles hooked around his waist, Zoe crying out in pleasure with every thrust of his pelvis...but Zoe reminded him just a little too much of Teyla and he wondered when it had become so difficult to conjure up a fantasy of a woman to fuck.

He sighed and slacked off on his pace. The water felt like it was getting cooler, so he kicked it up a notch.

Blowjob, he decided, a nice, anonymous blowjob. Maybe in a back alley, in a dark room, so he didn't have to get too specific with the details. Just images and impressions, the feel of lips stretched tight over his cock, the head of his dick brushing the back of someone's throat, the small noises made as tongue slid over skin. Rodney looking up at him from where he was kneeling on the floor of the shower, the evil elf expression taking on a whole new meaning as Rodney glanced up through water soaked lashes.

His cock jumped up in his hand, reaching for that mental image and John knew he had lost. He began to stroke in earnest, snapping his hips forward, bracing one hand on the wall for balance. This was what he wanted. This was what he needed. Right now.

The water suddenly went ice cold.

John yelped and jumped aside, hastily fiddling with the controls and finding that nothing was working, crashed out of the shower stall, cursing loudly. He turned off the water and snatched up the nearest towel, rubbing it vigorously over his head and body to collect the worst of the cold water trickling down his length. He realized that it must be as a result of the problems they'd had earlier today, probably related to the repairs in progress, but it didn't make him any happier about it.

On the hook beside him, Rodney's bathrobe hung, bright with color like a radiant peacock.

Shivering, he tossed down the wet towel and snatched up Rodney's robe. As the plush folds enveloped him, he could not help but release a little sigh—the damn thing was so warm and felt so good against the skin. He rubbed his left arm with his right hand and closed his eyes at the thought of someone rubbing him all over—wherever the fleece touched his body. His dick, which had taken a dim view of the cold shower proceedings, began to stir again, lifting halfway up as if to push against the cloth as well.

Damn. The robe was practically sex itself. Rodney would be really pissed when he realized it was missing.

He opened the door to the bathroom and found Rodney waiting for him in his quarters, arms crossed over his chest, looking decidedly pissed.

  
 _Uh-oh_.

Rodney tapped his earpiece, shooting daggers at John with his eyes all the while. "You can turn the hot water back on, Radek," he said, still glaring at John. "I've found the source of the problem."

John opened his mouth to speak but Rodney beat him to the punch. "You," he said, stalking up to John and poking him in his fleece-covered chest. "I get released from the infirmary at long last and head back to my quarters anticipating a nice, steamy shower and what do I find when I get out of the stall, standing in a puddle and reaching for my nice, warm robe? It's _not there_."

John opened his mouth again.

"And here's the best part!" Rodney said brightly, radiating sarcasm. "I come here to complain that the petty thievery is still taking place, and I find that you're _wearing_ my bathrobe." John could see that Rodney's hair was damp. He looked like he'd thrown on the nearest clothes at hand, and stormed over to John's quarters, dressed in a striped shirt over a grey t-shirt and jeans. It was so unusual to see Rodney wearing anything other than his science uniform that it took John by surprise.

"I was cold," John's excuse sounded feeble, even to him. "And it was right there."

"I can't _believe_ you," Rodney raged, but he looked hurt as well. "Is this your idea of some kind of stupid joke? Or do you like picking on the uncool kids? Because, really, I thought better of you and if that is what this is all about, I've got news for you. I've been there, done that and I'm not putting up with it again."

Rodney's assessment of the situation was so close to what John had been thinking earlier that he knew the truth of it had to be visible on his face. "I can explain," he began, when Rodney started to turn away, angrily heading for the door.

"This I've got to hear." Rodney folded his arms again and stared belligerently at John, tapping his fingers impatiently against one bicep.

"Okay, this is a little embarrassing," John began, reaching up with one hand to rub the back of his neck and shivering just a little at the cold water still dripping off his hair.

Rodney's entire posture said, ' _I'm waiting_ ' but he frowned as he watched John continue to flounder with an explanation.

"It _was_ meant to be a joke," John said at last, folding his arms as well and rubbing the fleece distractedly, "and only the one time. Only..." he broke off, knowing it would really hurt Rodney to know that he'd involved Ronon as well.

Rodney seemed to have leapt to another conclusion, however. The light of discovery was in his eyes (and how could John have failed to notice before how hot _that_ was?). "Oh. _Oh_! I get it," he said, looking a little stunned and then putting on his 'supportive' face. "I'm sorry, I didn't understand before. It's okay, it's no big deal, I get it now. I won't tell anyone, I promise."

"You won't tell anyone what?" John tipped his head back a little and frowned at Rodney.

"About the thing. The thing you have for fleece. The...you know, the _fetish_." He looked a little oddly excited at the idea and John supposed it was because this was a piece of information that only the two of them shared, that not even Ronon and Teyla knew about it.

"I don't have a fetish, Rodney," John said sharply. "It was just a stupid joke. I'm sorry, I never meant for it to go that far."

"Oh. Right. No, I understand. Not the sort of thing that the military commander of Atlantis would want to admit to having. You can trust me, John, your secret's safe with me. I _do_ work with classified information all the time, you know."

"I don't have a fleece fetish," John insisted, a little annoyed that Rodney was so sure he did.

Rodney made the ' _oh, come on_ ,' face and then the elf grin flickered over his lips. "Oh really?" he asked, reaching out to rub his hand up and down John's arm. He couldn't possibly know how seductive his voice sounded just then.

John's hips made an involuntary stutter and they both looked down to notice that John's cock thought it was time to join the conversation. Rodney's fingers closed reflexively on John's arm and his cock bounced up happily under the robe.

"Not a thing for fleece," John said again, looking up into Rodney's eyes and holding him there.

"Not a thing for fleece," Rodney repeated slowly, a note of puzzlement in his voice.

John willed him to get it. _C'mon, genius, work it out. Don't make me say it out loud_.

"Not a thing for fleece," Rodney said again. He glanced down at his grip on John's arm and began to rub his thumb in small circles against the plush. John leaned in just a little closer.

Rodney's eyes flashed upward to meet John's. "You have a thing for me?"

John felt his mouth tighten in a little grimace and he closed his eyes briefly, nodding as though the answer was being taken from him against his will.

"Oh," Rodney said, stilling the movements of his thumb, but not letting go. "Wow. I didn't know."

"Neither did I," John admitted, "not really."

"For me?" Rodney said again, with a sudden grin, looking as though he'd just been handed a Christmas present unexpectedly.

All the good and reasonable things that John could have said and done at that moment went right out the window. He took Rodney by the arm and pulled him in closer, brushing his lips with a kiss.

"Seriously?" Rodney continued to be stunned but at least he seemed pleased at the idea. He studied John's face as though he was looking for some sort of answers there and John didn't know what he found there, but whatever it was seemed to satisfy Rodney. With one hand still on John's arm, the other snaked around to the back of his head and into his damp hair, pulling John in for another kiss.

This one was nothing like the tentative contact John had made a moment ago. Rodney's kiss engulfed his senses, even as his tongue took over John's mouth, questing and then finding more contact, pulling out a moan from deep within John. His reaction was immediate—he grabbed Rodney's head in both hands and held him there as their mouths explored each other heatedly. John found his shoulders striking the wall he didn't remember being that close behind him as Rodney practically crawled onto his body. The feel of the fleece sliding over his damp skin made John writhe underneath Rodney's weight and he changed his grip to reach around behind Rodney and grab two generous fistfuls of ass, pulling Rodney's groin into his own and beginning to rut against him.

"Oh god." Rodney's lips murmured the words against his throat and they then were seeking more skin as Rodney nosed his way under the collar of the robe so he could mouth and suck at John's clavicle. The loosely tied belt of the robe came undone and Rodney slid down John's body, rubbing his face down John's abdomen as he went, until he was on his knees and contemplating John's cock like it was a new and interesting and as yet uncatalogued Ancient device.

"Rodney," John said, not certain what he meant or wanted to say, his chest heaving slightly, his fingers clenching with the desire to touch Rodney so very badly. Rodney had placed two warm hands under the open robe on either side of John's hips. He used one now to steady John's cock, which had enthusiastically bobbed forward at Rodney's proximity. Looking up through his lashes, Rodney slowly gave John the evil elf grin and closed his mouth over the end of John's cock.

It was heaven. Rodney's mouth was warm and wet and when his tongue slid experimentally over John's slit, his dick pulsed in Rodney's grip. John's hands flattened against the wall behind him as Rodney began to work his cock in earnest, if not with experience. Rodney laved John's cock with his tongue, he flicked his tongue over the soft head; he applied suction. He sped up; he slowed down. John could feel his toes curl and his balls tighten with the building of his orgasm and he pounded the wall with an open hand as it approached. Rodney didn't seem to notice and John had to warn him that he was coming.

A little too late. Rodney got a mouthful and then pulled off, making faces before he went back to stroking John efficiently by hand to a complete orgasm. John's come spurted over Rodney's hand, and he sagged back against the wall as Rodney gentled and slowed his rhythm, gradually stopping. Making ' _I'm so going to pay for this tomorrow_ ' noises as he used John to pull himself to his feet, Rodney suddenly startled John by slipping his hands underneath the robe and up John's back, pulling him forward to rest against Rodney's amazingly broad shoulders.

It was an oddly comforting gesture and John was surprised at how right the solidity of Rodney's body pressed up against him felt. He wanted to stay there, just like that for at least the next several hours, but after a moment he lifted his head.

"You've done that before?" He was a little tentative in his question, not wanting to seem like he was pumping Rodney for information because really, not wanting to go there.

Rodney just puffed up his chest a little and grinned. "A little experimentation in college. Nothing major. Not anything I ever really wanted before now." He waved off his previous sexual history with a flick of one hand. John missed its presence against his skin already.

"That was pretty goddamned amazing," John said, wits slowly coming back to him.

"Quick study," Rodney looked complacent for a moment and then suddenly uncertain again. "So, ah, what comes next?"

John kissed him, soft at first and then with increasing passion. "Same as always," he drawled. "I try to beat your score."

Rodney laughed at that. His laughter quickly turned into a moan when John recaptured his mouth and kissed him thoroughly once more. He tugged at Rodney's clothing until they were both fumbling at Rodney's fly, and then Rodney took a step back and hurriedly pulled off his shirts, unzipping his pants and starting to shuck out of them before John pointed out, "shoes" and then Rodney was toeing off his Nikes and muttering "shoes, shoes" all the while he seemed unable to take his eyes off John.

Finally he was standing before John in just his boxers and socks, looking a little nervous. "Now what?" he asked.

John slowly peeled off the robe and walked around behind Rodney to place it over his shoulders. "Now you put this on." He fed Rodney the arms of the robe, continuing before Rodney could wonder why John wanted him to cover up again. "Because it feels _amazing_ against your skin." He smoothed his hands over Rodney's shoulders and down out over his arms, squeezing and stroking the plush as he went.

Rodney gave the smallest of sighs as he leaned into John's touch. "Are you sure you don't have a fleece fetish?" he questioned, but John could tell his heart wasn't in it.

Instead of answering, John pulled Rodney up against him, encircling Rodney with his arms, running his hands up and down Rodney's sides as he buried his face in the fleece at Rodney's neck. Rodney tipped his head back to rest it on John's shoulder and John had a strong urge to throw Rodney down on the bed and rub himself all over Rodney's body. He tweaked a cloth-covered nipple and felt Rodney arch upwards into his touch. John slipped a hand underneath the robe and ran his fingers down Rodney's belly until he found the coarse hair at his groin. He found the waistband of Rodney's boxers and began to push them down, Rodney helping to get them over his hips and then allowing them to fall to the floor so he could step out of them. Rodney's cock was smooth and heavy in his hand and he swept over the head, collecting the small amount of wetness there and using it to slick his grip. Rodney was leaning back against him; Rodney's hand came down on John's arm and gripped it as John began to speed up the pace. Rodney got even wetter and began to pump his hips slightly.

"C'mon, Rodney," John whispered encouragingly in his ear before taking Rodney's earlobe in his mouth and biting it gently. "Don't hold back. Do it for me." He pressed his body up against Rodney, his own cock starting to take an interest in warm fleece all around.

"Oh. God. John." Rodney's voice was breathless and John felt the shudder that ran through him. He began to make small wordless sounds that increased in pitch as John felt the tension build in his body. Suddenly Rodney went quite still and John felt Rodney's cock pulsing in his hand, Rodney's come suddenly bathing his hand with warmth.

He'd made Rodney come. It filled him with an odd sense of pride and he was ridiculously pleased with himself.

They stood in the same position for a long moment, Rodney slumped against him, when suddenly Rodney turned and stared at John with wide, blown pupils. He grabbed John and pulled him in for a ferocious kiss.

"Next time," Rodney said when he came up for air. "In the bed. Sex while standing is all very hot but just the same, it takes a bit more concentration not to fall down. And of course, some research is in order. This is all very new to me and I hate not knowing anything about a given subject. There's more to this than just blowjobs and hand jobs and I want to know _everything_. Um, there will be a next time, right?" Rodney looked so hopeful and yet so worried that John had to struggle not to laugh out loud.

"This is all pretty new to me too," John said. "So I guess we'll just have to do it until we get really good at it."

Rodney looked at him in disbelief. "That could take some time," he said thoughtfully.

John gave him the once-over. Rodney stood before him, the glorious blue robe hanging open on his sturdy body, his cock sated and happy. "Years," he agreed simply.

Rodney's smile was amazing to behold. "So this really is about me then?"

"Yes," John said, stepping forward to run his hand down Rodney's shoulder.

"Cool," Rodney said, before narrowing his eyes slightly. "But get your own fleece."

John threw back his head and laughed.

~fin~

  



End file.
